


The Jackal and the Bear

by TunnelRabbit



Series: Orbits [6]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Fire Nation Royal Family, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pre-Canon, Sibling Rivalry, Ursa's story, no AtLa comics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TunnelRabbit/pseuds/TunnelRabbit
Summary: Far from the Fire Nation capital, at the edge of the nation, balanced atop cliffs that plummeted into the tempestuous Southern Sea, lay the estate of Lalahon....The story of Ursa and her sister Siyaar, and the man between them, Ozai who would become Fire Lord.
Relationships: Iroh/OC, Ozai/Siyaar, Ozai/Ursa (Avatar), Ursa/OC
Series: Orbits [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/647117
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue / Chapter 1: Lalahon

**Author's Note:**

> _Prequel to canon; prequel to the[Orbits](https://archiveofourown.org/series/647117) series; ignoring the comics completely._
> 
> _This can be read as a standalone, no problem._
> 
> _But it does include **SPOILERS** to [Book 5: Purity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296695/chapters/32982015), so if that concerns you, note spoiler warnings for each chapter here. Siyaar figures prominently in Book 5, where she seems to appear out of the woodwork. This is the woodwork._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter 1 contains spoilers for[Book 5: Purity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296695/chapters/32982015), through Chapter 14, "Masks." If, on the other hand, you are reading "The Jackal and the Bear" first, then anything from Book 5's Chapter 16, "The Dragon's Jewel" onward will spoil you for this story._

_PROLOGUE_

熊

_“Mother, will you stay with me?”_

_“Only for a few minutes, Zuko. You’re a big boy now, and you need to learn fall asleep on your own.”_

_The little boy sat in the center of a vast four-poster sinking into an ocean of scarlet satin. Ursa didn’t have the heart to leave him drowning there alone._

_“Just tell me the one about the jackal and the bear, ok?”_

_Ursa hid her smile behind her hand. “But that one’s so long,” she teased. She could spin out new episodes of that story indefinitely, and often did._

_“You can make it short! Just the important parts. Please?”_

_“Oh, all right. Shall I ask Azula to join us?”_

_Zuko scowled, that same crease in his brow that Ozai had—though on her little prince, it was no more than an adorable dimple. “You know she hates stories.” He seized his mother’s hand and gripped it tightly in both hands. “I want you all to myself.”_

_“Very well. She has Lu tonight.” Ursa climbed onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, wrapping her arms around her son. “Once upon a time, on a high green mountain, lived a bear all by herself.”_

_“What kind of a bear?”_

_“Just a bear-bear. This was long ago, when there were regular bears. The bear would feast on fire-berries all morning and sun herself on a warm rock in the afternoons and scoop fish out of the river in the evenings. And in the winter—for it gets very cold up in the mountains, you know—she would curl up in a warm cave and doze until spring time. It was a good bear life. Except that she was very lonely. There were no other bears on that mountain, but even if there had been, she would still have felt this ache in her heart. For she missed her sister.”_

_“But how can a jackal be a bear’s sister?”_

_“What jackal? Who said anything about a jackal? Now, at the foot of the mountain, and several miles beyond, the green forest dwindled to scrub and a hot, dry desert stretched off under the sun. It looked lifeless and uninhabitable, but only if you didn’t look too closely. Once the sun slid off its midday peak, life began to stir and creep out from under the shady rocks and by dusk, the plain would be buzzing and scurrying with little creatures. And hunting them were a few big creatures. And, oh yes, one of them was a jackal.”_

_“See?”_

_“The jackal would prowl through the shadows each night looking for just the right meal. When she found a tasty little critter, she would sneak up on it until just the right moment, and then pounce!” Zuko jumped with a little giggle when Ursa seized him round the middle and tickled him. “She was clever and conniving and could always get what she wanted. Except that she was lonely. Jackals are supposed to hunt in packs, you know? But this jackal was all alone in the big desert, with no one around but the ones she liked to kill—and some bigger creatures who liked to hunt her. That was the proper order of the world, she thought. But she remembered a time, as a cub, when there was someone else in her life, who cared about her, someone whom she wanted to protect.”_

_“That was the bear!”_

_“And when she thought of that someone, she felt something strange in her heart, an achey, empty feeling.”_

_“Well, she loved her. Duh.”_

_“She didn’t understand this feeling, and it made her angry.”_

_Zuko nodded wisely, and Ursa’s own heart wrenched, that he understood the jackal already._

熊

* * *

CHAPTER 1: LALAHON

Far from the Fire Nation capital, at the edge of the archipelago, balanced atop cliffs that plummeted into the tempestuous Southern Sea, lay the estate of Lalahon. The people there were not seafarers, but rather kept the ocean at their backs and herded sheep across the windswept slopes high above the waves, and farmed the fields on the lee of those hills, rolling waves of rice shimmering emerald in summer and golden in the fall, with a pair of inland lakes set like lapis at their heart.

The land was owned by Lord Bakar, an elderly man, traditional and formal in his ways, scholarly and meticulous in his nature, but loving in his guarded heart. He was regarded as only a minor noble of the Fire Nation, rarely seen at the capital and remembered there even less. He was notable in one respect, though he himself regarded it as little more than an accident of genetics, as he had been orphaned at a young age: he was the son of the last Avatar, Roku. ~~~~

Bakar’s second wife, Yuhi was already many years into her career as a healer when she married her friend, recently widowed. Very soon, she bore a daughter, Siyaar, and six years later, Ursa. Bakar was not disappointed in the least that they were both girls—on the contrary, he was overjoyed. He had fathered sons before, only to lose them in the Fire Lord’s follies overseas. Though Fire Nation women might serve in the military on the homefront, only men were sent overseas.)

Siyaar was a headstrong girl of fiery passions, certain of her opinions and decisive in her desires. It was a surprise to everyone when it finally became apparent that she would not be a firebender. This was a disappointment to her, crushing her dream of commissioning as a military officer and climbing the ranks to command the Fire Lord’s Imperial Guard one day.

Ursa was quieter, a peacemaker and a helper, taking after her mother, and likely would have been overshadowed by her ambitious sister, had she not been so beautiful and so beloved by everyone on the estate. Siyaar was occasionally jealous of her popularity, but more often dismissive of it. The affection Ursa earned from those around them was not the kind of influence Siyaar craved.

When they were children, Siyaar was Ursa’s protector. As they roamed the estate, Siyaar picked Ursa up when she slipped and fell, bullied the boys who picked on her, spotted the poisonous snakes and frogs before they could strike, and showed her how to leap from rock to rock without fear. At home, she stood in front when their elderly father, stiff and distant in his scholar’s study, summoned them, and she spoke for them both; when the cook scolded them, Siyaar lied and said that she had stolen the honey cakes and took the swat to the palms; when their mother was sick, Siyaar took Ursa in her arms and recited stories of far-off warriors fighting for glory in the Earth Kingdom. Ursa idolized her and Siyaar felt strong and brave.

As they grew older, however, and Ursa needed her less, Siyaar lost interest in her sister. It is common, of course, for girls of a certain age to seek the attention of boys over the childish pursuits of their younger siblings. But Siyaar was not common. The boys of Lalahon were of no concern to her. They were mostly peasants; only the families of the steward and the clerks were of higher status, and that was certainly not high enough for her.

From time to time, young men of more fitting birth would pass through to evaluate her assets and perhaps court her, but Siyaar always found them wanting, too. They were too weak, to obsequious, too superficial, too dry, too complacent, too soft—none approached her ideal. For her part, she did little to win them over, but stood tall and austere, looking down her nose at them. (She prided herself on her ability to do this even when they were taller than she.)

Once, when she was sixteen, the Crown Prince himself honored them with a visit. For the week leading up to his arrival, Siyaar fluttered about like the girl that she was, and even had a new dress made, to her mother’s astonishment. Siyaar knew she would have a chance at no higher status in life than that of Fire Lady! When he arrived, though, she was as disappointed with him as with the rest—if not more so. He was short and squat with an ill-defined nose and laughed far too much. He could not seem to be bothered to take a stand on any political matter, or _any_ matter of consequence, and only wanted to please everyone around him with funny stories and egregious compliments. She could scarcely tolerate twenty minutes with him and did not trouble to hide her boredom and disdain but wrote it plainly across her features.

Instead of men, then, world affairs fed Siyaar’s voracious hunger. She wormed her way into every meeting and meal with visiting merchants from afar, and even into pedantic debates with her father’s scholarly friends (it was worth enduring the tedium for their occasional detour into current politics). She read every book, bulletin, and gazette that passed through Lalahon. Knowledge was power.

Meanwhile, without her sister pulling her through bogs and into confrontations with the village children, Ursa found herself happiest around the hearth. She did her embroidery in the kitchens, listening to the folktales and gossip of the cooks and kitchenmaids, learning to pray to Zhurong, fire god of hearth and pots, as well as glorious Agni. In the evenings, she indulged in romance novels purchased surreptitiously at the bookstall in the market, swept away in swashbuckling adventures with strong-jawed princes, dashing and daring, and the beauteous maidens with swelling bosoms who fell, inevitably, into their arms.

The first time Ursa lit a fire in the hearth with her bare hands, she was ten—peculiarly late to manifest as a firebender. No one noticed except for Lu, the gardener’s daughter, who blurted out, “Ursa’s a firebender!”—only to have her ears boxed for a liar. Ursa was forced to admit that it was true, since she could not have allowed another—particularly someone of lower rank than she—to take a punishment unjustly. She had wanted to keep it to herself, for Fire Lord Azulon required all firebenders to train in the martial arts and register their names for military service.

Ursa’s own interests were in the ways of healing, and she shadowed her mother on rounds in the village and the servants’ quarters, and visited the village herbalist when her mother was unwell, learning how to heal most common ailments and a few uncommon ones.

Her mother’s own illness, however, was a frustration and a puzzle, coming and going unpredictably, and keeping Yuhi in a state of fatigue for weeks at a time. Specialists would appear from other parts of the Fire Nation, when her father could induce them to come. At every visit, Ursa was present, ready to lend a hand, or (if she perceived that her presence was unwelcome) seated unobtrusively in the corner, listening, unnoticed.

By their teen years, Ursa and Siyaar scarcely saw each other except at dinner, when their father’s stern presence dampened any open conversation.

Bakar and Yuhi were a bit frustrated that neither daughter seemed particularly interested in boys—real-life boys, that is. Ursa was no more responsive than her sister to the advances of hopeful suitors—and she had many more than Siyaar, as word of her beauty and kindness traveled. Ursa politely went walking with a few local boys, and graciously attended to visiting suitors to the best of her ability, but never gave her parents an indication of any particular preference. They wanted a good match for her, but were thankful to attract no further attentions of the Royal Family—Prince Iroh’s visit had made them exceedingly nervous, despite his efforts to put them at ease. But he was by this time married, and Prince Ozai was young yet and more focused on his military career. Ursa was not above succumbing to the occasional daydream—Prince Ozai was said to be astonishingly handsome and dashing, and almost as masterful a firebender as his brother—but the Caldera was about as real to her as Ba Sing Se and had nothing to do with their country lives.

Ursa was hardly lonely, though. Most of her days were spent with Lu. Ever since Ursa had stood up for her, the gardener’s girl had become a steadfast and loyal friend. Yuhi had now taken Lu on as an apprentice healer because of her knowledge of herbs, giving the girls even more opportunity to spend time together. They shared the joys and frustrations of their calling, puzzling out new treatments to intractable ailments, and working out beneficial uses for firebending. And when they were not working, they ran out into the hills and dreamed up wild fantasies of the long-ago days before the war, when all the nations lived in harmony, when air bison frolicked in the skies with dragons, when the Avatar held the world in balance.

Siyaar shook her head at these childish antics, and occasionally cornered Ursa to correct her ways. It was not only that Ursa’s romanticization of the past was foolishly misguided; it was also dangerous. Indulging in such stories constituted dissidence bordering on treason, and if Ursa ever left the sheltered haven of Lalahon, she could be imprisoned for it, or worse. As pathetic as her little sister was, Siyaar still felt responsible for her.

Siyaar had no intention of staying at Lalahon herself. After months of pleading, cajoling, and sly manipulations that she believed were undetectable (they were transparent to Bakar, and he was mildly disturbed by his daughter’s comfort with deceptive tactics), her father finally agreed to take her to the Fire Lord’s court. Lord Bakar had not been himself in at least ten years (he had not made note of the date of his last, distasteful visit) and was in no hurry to return. But perhaps his daughter would meet with some disillusionment over the venal pettiness of the court nobility, how they jockeyed pointlessly for the Fire Lord’s favor, if she could witness it for herself.

The occasion was the 61st anniversary of Fire Lord Azulon’s reign. The anniversary was always an extravagant occasion, of course, but as sixty-one was not the epic milestone that sixty had been, it would not be mobbed, and would be attended mostly by loyalist ranks among the nobility. (Ranks among which Bakar did not count himself, but he kept his opinions discreet, of course.)

Since Siyaar was now well past twenty, the obvious motive for their journey would be to present her to the court as a marriageable young lady. A bit late for the introduction, but this wasn’t the Earth Kingdom, where they insisted on marrying their daughters off barely past their first menses. And in any case, Bakar still hoped Siyaar could learn to content herself with a provincial landowner like himself—a number of viable candidates remained.

Her mother made sure Siyaar’s trunks were packed with dresses of the finest red and gold silks they could afford, and entrusted her with the family’s heirloom jewelry: Earth Kingdom silver hung with jade, amber earrings from Kyoshi, and one small but exquisite ruby from Fire Nation mines set in a golden choker. Siyaar’s hair had been oiled and brushed for a week before departure, and her skin bathed in coconut milk—and though she generally had no use for a beauty regimen, Siyaar was once again patient and obedient in these preparations. She wanted her entrance at court to be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, it won't all be exposition. Next, the Fire Nation Court, wherein there is dialogue. 
> 
> ...I'm wondering whether this story should be rated "Mature" or "Explicit." Despite the tone so far, despite what the characters may think, this is not a fairytale. As I hope you would expect, in a love triangle involving Ozai. Where is the line between the ratings, do you think?


	2. At the Royal Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fire Nation chauvinists fall in love.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Minor spoilers for Book 5, second half (which actually hasn't been written yet--sorry!). But you already know out that Siyaar had a past with Ozai. It's Azula and Zuko who don't know._

傲

Ozai heard his elder brother heave a sigh beside him and could not contain his glare of irritation. Did the man have no respect for the dignity of his station? On this day at least, could he not hold himself with honor?

The ranks of the court filled the throne room, arrayed in perfect symmetry, fanning out in radiating rows centered on the throne. Azulon had recently installed a trough of kerosene that sustained a wall of fire between the throne and the audience, an innovation Ozai thought most effective in instilling awe in their subjects. It currently blazed low enough, courtesy of Iroh’s bending, to allow the court to gaze upon the two princes as they awaited the entrance of their father.

The Fire Sages droned on, chanting in unison, weaving an atmosphere of somber mystery. They recited the genesis of the Fire Lords from Agni’s crucible, the arrival of the comet that Sozin harnessed to catapult their nation to glory, and the great deeds of Azulon, decade by decade, until they reached today, the sixty-first anniversary of his illustrious reign. Ozai stood spear-straight, to project to his people the rectitude of his lineage and his father’s rule.

Iroh managed that much, at least. Even if his physique more closely resembled a cannonball than a spear.

Ozai’s pride did not actually preclude boredom, though he was strong enough to contain it. He occupied his mind scanning the assembled and recalling each of their names, ranks, and parentage. He had come to about the tenth row back when he hit an unfamiliar face. The old man, he vaguely recognized. Bakar, lord of some provincial estate somewhere—he remembered that from the guest list. His father had jabbed his finger at the paper and said, “Remind me later. There’s something about him.” But it wasn’t the old man who arrested his eye.

The young woman next to him sat proud and erect, a serious face, straight and noble, with a passionate set to the jaw. Her eyes scanned the room, assessing everything, until they landed on his.

He had the sudden, disorienting sensation that he knew her. He had never met her, but a certainty struck his heart that no other human being had ever inspired.

He held her eyes with such intensity that he almost missed the pronouncement: “All hail Fire Lord Azulon!” Just in time, he added his bending to Iroh’s to raise the fire curtain to the ceiling, before dropping it to reveal their father standing between them in flickering, gold brocade robes, as if manifested from the flames themselves.

傲

* * *

狼

The reception line crawled toward the two princes. Siyaar chastised herself for fidgeting. She prided herself on her patience--well, not patience, but control of her impatience. She ground her teeth instead. She was burning to meet Prince Ozai. She wanted to touch the floor at his feet and pledge her devotion; she wanted to seize those golden eyes with hers once more. She couldn’t believe it had happened—but Siyaar was not one taken to flights of fancy. She was sure that it had. He had looked—no, stared at her. Maybe he was simply taken aback by how ugly she was, or how unfashionable her dress was. Or wondered why her eyes weren’t demurely lowered like the court ladies. But it hadn’t felt like that.

As the two women ahead of her—sisters, apparently—greeted the brothers in their turn (giggling and fawning for far too long after they rose from their knees), Siyaar’s heart began to pound so loudly she was sure it was audible to everyone around her. She _would not_ blush, however.

Her father stepped forward. “Your Highness, Prince Ozai. Your Highness, Prince Iroh. We are honored to attend you on this illustrious occasion.” He knelt before them and touched the palms of his hands to the floor. Siyaar gracefully folded herself down beside him and lowered her forehead to the floor.

“Ah, Lord Bakar,” Prince Iroh said, urging him to his feet. “What a pleasure to see you again, after—what has it been—five years? Seven? Thank you for taking the time to come see us this year.” He sounded so ordinary. Fortuitously, he was interrupted just then by a servant, who appeared at the Crown Prince’s shoulder to murmur something urgently in his ear. “I must beg your pardon, Lord Bakar. I am afraid my father has called me away. Please—” he gestured expansively to the reception hall “—do enjoy our hospitality to your utmost content. Our home is yours.”

Bakar bowed to Iroh in leave-taking, then bowed deeply to his brother. “Your Highness, Prince Ozai.”

“Lord Bakar.” Prince Ozai’s voice resonated above Siyaar’s head, as compelling as his eyes.

“May I present to you my elder daughter, Siyaar. This is her debut at court.”

Siyaar rose as elegantly as she could, keeping her gaze lowered and her hands folded correctly before her.

“Siyaar.” The voice sent chills down her spine, the way he said it with such focus, as if committing it to memory. She raised her eyes to his, compelled.

Yes. It was there, again.

“Your Highness, Prince Ozai, it is an honor to meet you at last.” She could scarcely raise her voice above a whisper, but she imbued it with the same intensity she’d seen in his gaze before.

Prince Ozai nodded his head graciously to her, something he hadn’t done that to the women before her. “I only wonder why it took this long.” They said nothing more, seizing stories from each others eyes.

Lord Bakar cleared his throat and Siyaar realized that her father was watching them in some surprise. “Well, we do not wish to keep you from the rest of your receiving line, Your Highness.”

“Indeed.” And Ozai bowed his head once more, without ever once looking at her father.

Siyaar stepped away with fire in her bones, scarcely feeling the floor beneath her slippered feet. She kicked herself later for failing to drink in the singular experience of paying her allegiance to the Fire Lord himself, though she went through the proper motions well enough.

Absently sipping at a cup of wine later, she watched Ozai across the room, deep in conversation with various courtiers and courtesans who vied for his attention. Flames of Agni, he was beautiful. Tall and muscular (as near as she could tell beneath his flowing robes—and she extrapolated from every line and bulge), he moved with the elegant aggression of a puma-hawk. His features were symmetrical and flawless, as if carved by a master from aged ivory, his countenance exquisitely refined, and his eyes blazed gold. As if it were not enough that he was a firebender of great prowess, war hero of the seas, and the son of the Fire Lord himself, he was physically perfect. And he had given her his full attention—twice. This was her moment; she would sink her teeth into it and drink deeply of her destiny.

Ozai seemed to sense her gaze and paused to return it.

A fatherly hand fell upon her shoulder. “How do you find it so far, Siyaar?”

“It looks to be everything I’d hoped for, Father. And more.”

“Is that so?”

She turned to her father to find him looking at Ozai as well. Not admiringly, not even shrewdly, as one might expect for a potential suitor of his daughter. There was something much colder there—distrust and, she would almost say, scorn.

“Yes, it is so. Why, is there something that disappoints you?”

“Nothing ever changes here.” His eyes still followed Ozai as he moved among the courtiers. “As the father, so the son….”

His words trailed off and he seemed lost in some distasteful thought. Siyaar hoped he would not voice it—not here, at least.

“And Siyaar…” He spoke so softly, she wondered if she would be exposing her own father for treason. “Tread carefully. I do not wish you to be hurt. The nobles of the court, and the Royal Family…they are predators.”

That was it? She was almost disappointed. “So am I, Father,” she replied coolly.

“That is precisely what I am afraid of. Pray think always of the reputation of your family and our legacy.”

“Always, Father.” Indeed she would. And she would transform that legacy.

Bakar shook his head doubtfully and moved off to circulate politely amongst his peers.

When Ozai finally strode over to the archway where she stood, she was ready.

“Lady Siyaar.”

She knelt at his feet and prepared to kowtow again.

“No need. Let us dispense with further formalities.”

She raised her head in surprise, then stood. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

“Tell me, My Lady….” He paused, and if he had been anyone else, she would have thought him at a loss for words. His bearing was as confident as ever, but she caught a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. “Have you been long in the capital?”

“No, Your Highness, we are just arrived these three days. I have never before seen the heart of this great nation.”

“Then…may I be the one to reveal its glory to you?”

Siyaar’s heart nearly dropped out of her chest. This was courtship. She bowed from the waist. “It would be the greatest honor of my life.”

“Here, I am called upon to perform Court duties, as you can see.” He gestured elegantly to the room full of courtiers. “But I would know you better.” His molten eyes fell on her once more and slid down to her bosom—inappropriately, not that she felt any urge to object. Ozai caught himself and yanked his eyes up to hers, adding quickly, “And you should know your own capital and its culture.”

Just then the same servant who had called Prince Iroh away appeared at his shoulder. Ozai turned to him, first with a hint of relief, and then, on receiving the whispered message, irritation. “Do excuse me, Lady Siyaar, but I have been summoned. A palanquin will come for you this evening.”

Something was afoot.

That night, Siyaar waited, dressed ever so slightly less formally, makeup redone and hair retouched, in the foyer of their family home in Caldera City. Since they used it themselves so rarely, it was made available to cousins and even merchants of the Lalahon domain, and Siyaar found it inappropriately shabby and outdated. She was prepared to leap to her feet and meet the palanquin at the door when it arrived.

She waited for hours.

She was disappointed—bitterly disappointed—but not entirely surprised that it did not come. It had been quite clear that both of the Princes had been called to some urgent matter of state. Perhaps they were even now preparing to depart on a new campaign, on orders from the Fire Lord. The thought of Ozai sailing to conquer some unclaimed piece of the Earth Kingdom sent a shivery thrill through her.

She had retreated to her chamber, shed her outer mantle, and removed the jeweled combs from her hair when a loud knock came at last at the front door. A minute later, the maidservant appeared at hers, pale and trembling with excitement.

“Prince Ozai! He’s here!”

Siyaar’s heart began a fire dance in her chest and she forced herself to stand for three meditative breaths before descending the stairs at a measured pace.

Prince Ozai himself stood regally in the center of the unfortunate sitting room and did not wait for Siyaar’s greeting, but simply nodded to her and left, expecting her to follow. Only when she joined him in his luxuriously appointed palanquin (she suppressed a gasp of admiration) did he speak.

“Please accept my apologies, Lady Siyaar. The Fire Lord requires me to embark at dawn and I had arrangements to make. I hope I did not disturb you at this late hour.”

“Not at all, Your Highness. I am ever at your disposal.”

He nodded, expecting such a response, of course. “I could not let you escape my grasp, however, without the gift of at least one conversation.” The corner of his mouth curled, her first indication of any humor.

She found herself too breathless to reply.

“Rather than a tour of my city, however, I hope you will indulge me at the palace, as I fear we may need to suffer interruptions by my staff.”

“Of course,” she murmured. If he truly anticipated interruptions, then her actual honor was safe, she calculated, but her reputation was at risk, as she would to be witnessed alone with the prince after hours. Obviously, this was no concern of his.

Back at the palace, he led her through dark corridors, draped in red, ceilings so high as to be barely detectable in the torchlight. His office, however, was teak-paneled and warmly lit. Avoiding the round table in the center of the room, scattered with maps and missives, he guided her to a divan at the side of the room.

“If I may ask, Your Highness, what is the nature of the crisis?”

“You may ask. I am quite not at liberty to tell you, however.” He took her in, examining every tell in her face and her body. “Unless you can assure me you are not an Earth Kingdom spy.” And again, there was that teasing hint of a smile.

She returned it. “I certainly am not. I am, however, an avid student of military and political strategy. I am genuinely curious.”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “In that case… I suppose I can at least give you an overview of the matter.” He rose and gestured to the world map on the wall. “As you know, the Fire Nation has long desired to conquer the great city of Ba Sing Se. That would be the jewel in our empire, the key to manifesting our ultimate destiny.”

“To claim our rightful place as rulers of the world.”

“Indeed. No Fire Nation attack has yet managed to so much as breach the walls of Ba Sing Se. So my father, in his wisdom and experience, has devised a strategy that spans decades, closing in on the heart of the Earth Kingdom, carving away its defenses, relentless as the sea the Fire Nation commands, until it can no longer stand on its own, and falls into our waiting hands.” Ozai’s hands hewed at the air, graceful and precise, his words intoned like a benedicton.

He returned to the business at hand. “Certain circumstances have rather suddenly arranged themselves to our advantage and the time has come to move decisively to take control of Chameleon Bay. I have been given command of a squadron within the Eastern Continental Fleet commanded by Admiral Shan for the naval assault on the mouth of the bay. Meanwhile, my brother Iroh will command a land campaign to secure the shores and the port of Giragit.”

…..

Hours later, they sat together at the table, bent over a map of the eastern Earth Kingdom waters, heads almost touching, in heated debate—not an argument, Siyaar did not argue with royalty—over the optimal array of battleships to effectively blockade the hundred-mile mouth of the Bay. Orderlies came and went, with messages from command, requests from the quartermaster, and so forth.

The grey light of predawn had begun to seep past the curtains when Ozai suddenly raised his head. “Siyaar. You are surely not going to simper with the court ladies here for long, are you?”

“It was not my primary intent, no. Not knowing that I would be privileged to make your acquaintance, I had planned on perusing the military libraries here—for historical research.” They had fallen into more comfortable, colloquial speech over the course of the night, but Siyaar automatically recovered her more formal language at the mention of the Court.

“Rather dry.” Ozai frowned thoughtfully, a small crease appearing in the exact center of his brow. “You don’t think it would be far more interesting to actually witness military history in the making?”

“What are you saying, Your Highness?”

“Certain of my father’s advisors will of course accompany the fleet, but they will be quartered on the Admiral’s ship. As you know, I have only attained the naval rank of Commander (solely due to my youth, of course), but will join their councils regularly. As a prince, however, I am permitted an advisory staff of my own.”

“Yes?” This could not possibly be heading where it sounded like it was.

“Yes.” He paused, once again betraying a hint of nervousness. Siyaar could read him better now and was certain of it this time. “It is unconventional. As you have no field military experience yourself. But your knowledge of military history and command of strategic principles—your ideas have impressed me. They are quite unlike those I hear in my father’s war councils, yet I can find no holes in them.”

Siyaar held her breath.

“Would you accompany me on this mission, as my strategic advisor? You would then have the opportunity to attend the Admiral’s advisory councils yourself, and gain field experience. And of course carry the appropriate title and salary.”

Siyaar released her breath in an unseemly exclamation. “Yes, Your Highness! Yes, please!”

For the first time, a genuine smile claimed the whole of Ozai’s face, and Siyaar knew hers mirrored his. “I will send for your things and have them brought directly to the ship. Come, let me draw up a quick contract for you and then we must ready ourselves for departure.”

狼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I've had this one nearly finished for months--I'm so sorry you had to wait. I probably don't really need to explain the hold-up: I have kids and have been anything but alone. Like, ever. But something about the darkness at this time of year, and the desire to crawl inside of myself and hibernate, turns into an urge to write. It's either that or a catatonic depression. (Have tried that, too; do not recommend.)
> 
> I'll have another chapter for Book 5: Purity soon, too, but that will probably be it for a while. No sign of schools reopening here.
> 
> I hope you are all hanging in there, managing to stay safe and healthy, wherever you are. We will get through this.


End file.
